


A Lesson in (Female) Theater History

by deathtosanepeople



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Eviarty, F/M, Fix-It, Flirting, One Shot, Theater History, slight mention of sexual acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6575518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtosanepeople/pseuds/deathtosanepeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eve and Flynn go to retrieve Moriarty from the stockade, and Flynn gets a lesson in the history of females in theater. </p><p>(Or, why you should always support your girlfriend and not be an ass.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in (Female) Theater History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AussieWriter1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AussieWriter1/gifts).



> This work came about during a conversation with AussieWriter1, when we both came to the conclusion that Flynn's complete unwillingness to defend Eve's suggestion of hiring female actresses really bothered us.
> 
> So of course, I rewrote it, and of course, I turned it into an Eviarty fic. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> (Set during "The Librarians and the Final Curtain")

“My boy," Shakespeare says to Eve, approaching the stage where Flynn and her are perched, "if only you’d come to me before your growth spurt. That skin, those features, you would have made a great Juliet. Or Portia. It’s so hard to find convincing women.” 

“Or…" she ventures, "or you could just hire female actors?”

Flynn scoffs. Shakespeare scoffs. They look at one another and begin to laugh with increasing intensity. 

As Flynn punches her in the arm, she smiles haltingly, not understanding Flynn’s response, not knowing how to react. 

“You Flemmish!” Shakespeare exclaims. “You’re not just brave, but jovial! I must add a Flanders lad to my next play.” 

Flynn continues to laugh as Shakespeare paces away, and Eve's smile fades, false amusement quickly slipping from her face. She’s about to call Flynn out on that little display when suddenly they both sight a rather distinct looking quill on Shakespeare’s desk, and the issue is pushed to the back of her mind.

/

“I saw them drag him in this direction,” Eve relays to Flynn, tramping through the woods in search of the apprehended mastermind. 

“I don’t understand why we had to come look for him anyway,” Flynn grouses, slapping a branch out of his way. “He’s Moriarty. The bad guy. The antagonist. The villain. Ringing any bells?” 

“He’s not—“ She begins, but stops herself. “It’s the right thing to do, Flynn. We can’t just leave him behind here.”

“We most certainly can,” Flynn says with utter assuredness. “He’s a criminal, Eve. An almost murderer.”

She doesn’t reply, the sharp crunch of their boots against branches and the crackle of fallen leaves against their feet fills up the silence.

Flynn clears his throat. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two during your time in Cicely, but that was just a spell. He’s not the man you knew there, he’s not even a real person. All he ever was, was a villain in a book, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”

Eve shakes her head in front of him, the speckles of light seeping through the overhead canopy dotting shifting spots of gold in her hair. “I don’t believe that. There’s good in him, I know it.”

“Eve!” He hurries his pace, swinging in front of her and grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Listen to me! There isn’t. Any bit of virtue you saw in him in that place, it was a lie! A lie constructed to trap you and the other Librarians.”

She pulls herself from his grasp, foraging on. “It wasn’t a trap, Flynn. It was supposed to be a sanctuary. He said so himself.”

“Oh, and suddenly he’s all about telling the truth, is he? He’s a liar and a fiend. A selfish, self-serving fiend, who wouldn’t know a good deed if it hit him in the face.”

“I’m going to hit you in the face,” she mumbles under her breath. 

“What?” 

She stops suddenly, and he has to swerve to avoid running in to her. 

“I said I think this is the place.” 

She starts forward again, sighting the dark hue of Moriarty’s clothes in the distance. 

As they approach, he raises his head, at an angle that must be incredibly awkward considering his current position in a rather poorly made, splintery stockade. 

“Duchess,” he says fondly, smiling the smile of someone who is completely unruffled by their present state, no matter how ridiculous it may be. “I knew you’d come.”

Flynn is quick to offer rebuttal. “Don’t flatter yourself. We’re only doing this because, morally, it’s the right thing. It has nothing to do with you, Villain.”

“Also,” Eve says, eyeing Flynn with displeasure, “we could probably use your help. All hell has broken loose. Prospero is here, and he’s activated the staff.” She winces slightly, tilting her head. “Also, he's zapping people and turning them into things from Shakespeare’s plays. And not pleasant things.” 

“We don’t stand a chance,” Moriarty states, wishing desperately for the option to gesture as he normally would have, but unable to do so in his restricted state. 

“Well, you certainly don’t,” says Flynn, practically preening with self satisfied glee beside him, “getting yourself all kerfuffled away the way that you have. I hope you see, Eve.” Flynn points to him, annoyingly speaking as if he’s not currently present. “That he’s really not that great. I mean, the man is in stocks and I’m free.”

Moriarty sighs. Could this be any worse?

“I mean, the man can’t move and I’m as free as a bird.” Flynn spins, his casual arrogance grating against Moriarty’s nerves like a knife on a bottle. “Just saying.”

Eve crosses her arms. “Well, at least the man in the stocks wasn’t kissing Shakespeare’s ass.” 

Flynn jerks his head back in surprise. “I…I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Mr. Librarian,” replies Eve, advancing forward and poking him in the chest. “Honestly, all that knowledge of history in your head, and you couldn’t think of one single female actress or playwright? You just, go along with his clearly incorrect assumption that women can’t be in theater?”

“Look, Eve,” he places placating hands on her shoulders, talking to her as one would a student, “we’re trying to blend in. In this time period, now, he wouldn’t understand something like that. I couldn’t say anything, women didn’t start being involved in theater until the Edwardian times.”

Moriarty clears his throat. “Actually, that’s incorrect.”

Flynn whirls, waving his finger emphatically. “No, no. Margret Hughes was the first professional female actress in England. She performed Shakespeare’s play Othello as Desdemona, on December eighth sixteen sixty. Sixteen sixty! We’re,” he flaps his arms encompassingly, “in sixteen eleven!”

“Ah, yes, a professional actress, in England,” Moriarty says pointedly. “While England was rather constricted by its strict Puritan beliefs, other countries had not those same restrictions. A notable Italian actress that comes to mind is Isabella Andreini, who joined the troupe Compagnia dei Comici Gelosi in fifteen seventy-eight. Not as commonly known, perhaps, because Mother England considered English Theater to be the pinnacle of the dramatic arts, and that is how she has continued to be portrayed throughout history.”

Moriarty halts speaking, hand motioning restrictively to the rather slow progress Flynn is making with the lock. Eve steps forward impatiently and takes the pick out of Flynn’s hand, bumping him out of the way with her hip. 

“Keep talking,” she orders Moriarty.

“Well, if we come away from the limitations of Europe, we can easily find other examples of early actresses.” 

The lock pops free with a clink, and Eve pulls the wooden bolt out from the frame. 

“Women performers in early times were often prostitutes,” Moriarty continues, removing his head from the stockade as she lifts the bar, “the racy, suggestive themes of the plays were their main appeal.”

“For instance?” Eve prompts, lowering the bar and turning to face him.

“This is a waste of time!” cries Flynn, pacing away from them and back again. “We need to be enacting a plan! My plan!” 

“For instance,” Moriarty responds, ignoring the Librarian’s impatient urging, “early female kabuki in Japan. Before women were banned from performing in sixteen twenty-nine, kabuki was a popular form of entertainment in the red-light district of Edo.” 

Eve hums, fascinated. “I did not know that.” 

“An even earlier example would be Theodora,” Moriarty smiles, cocksure, placing a forearm above his head against one of the stock’s wooden posts and leaning forward, “perhaps the most famous of mime actresses, women who earned their living by a combination of their theatrical and sexual skills in ancient Rome.”

Eve’s eyebrows hike up. “Sexual skills?” 

“Yes, live performances often included…” Moriarty halts as Eve’s eyebrows travel up a little further, and his smile widens. 

“…Let’s just say explicitly raunchy acts,” he amends. “Not that the “indecency” of her occupation took away from her in any measure, Theodora went on to marry the Emperor Justinian I, despite widespread disapproval, and became a powerful Empress of the Byzantine Empire.”

“Fascinating,” she acknowledges, unable to help the excited tingle brushing out from her chest as he so casually references such illicit topics. And it is fascinating. Made even more so by the voice telling it, the conspiratorial warmth of it, the murmured inflections making this little history lesson seem personal and private. 

But it isn’t private, and they’re not alone. She glances up to see a harsh expression slashed across Flynn’s brows. She realizes how close they’re standing, how intimate this must seem. 

Time to change the subject. 

“And female playwrights?” she enquires, pointedly putting a little distance between them. “I’m sure there were a few at some point.”

Inferring her discomfort, Moriarty takes a step back, a soft but chagrined smile briefly ticking up the side of his mouth. “One could argue that the first playwright after the ancient times was a woman. A nun, the earliest-known woman poet in Germany, named Hrosvitha. She wrote in Latin, her legends either in hexameters or elegiac verse; her plays in prose, her grasp of the language was exceptional, her knowledge of classic authors reflected clearly in her works. She was a bridge between antiquity and modernity, called "the most remarkable woman of her time,” her time being the tenth century.”

“And how do you know all this?” Flynn butts in, irritable and combative. 

“I’m rather a fond appreciator of the theatrical arts myself,” Moriarty replies, though his eyes never leave Eve’s own. “I thought brushing up on their history could do no harm.” 

Flint sputters in the background. “I’m sorry, appreciator of the theatrical arts? Did everyone momentarily have a lapse in memory and forget that he just tried to kill Shakespeare?”

The Librarian’s protestations go unnoticed, the gaze held between them heavy with the weight of what remains unspoken. 

Eve is the first to look away, focusing her mind on anything but those knowing eyes that seem to fathom gentleness for her alone. 

Moriarty turns his gaze to Flynn, the kindness bleeding out of his expression, leaving nothing but cold determination behind. “Shakespeare has summoned Prospero. You should have let me kill him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: If you want to find out some of what happened during the weeks Moriarty and Eve were residing in Cicily, stay tuned because AussieWriter1 and myself are writing a fic detailing some of their time there.


End file.
